glass recycling

i sort my shattered broadcast.
goodbye moon says
the helicopter. we have to recycle 
our hope. break its neck & say,
"tomorrow." sometimes i open my phone
& become a second class citizen. sometimes
i open my phone & the government
is drinking gasoline. i say we swamp
the swamp. worship the oldest creatures.
dinosaurs trying to press the little keys
on an iphone. lay back & let
the apocolypse kiss you. it's going to come
in as many flavors as you want. i floss my teeth.
i put on setting powder. i hold my lover 
& tell them i no longer believe 
in snow. the old broom i used to use
to sweep the porch. dead ant in a line
marking where the poison starts. the news says,
"hungery? why are you hungry?" i eat
a handful of whatever the fuck i want.
there's not enough doritos to go around.
to my they taste like being a child 
& believing in disney world & family members
who did not grow gardens of matches.
i shake the etch-a-sketch & shout.
money comes like moths. i pluck them
furiously from the air. tell them i love them
when really i mean, "i am dying 
& i disasterously need you." a field 
of flip phones. a record player 
singing, "tip toe through the tulips."
don't worry & by that i mean 
a worry has no teeth. go in the wet soil
& dig for anger. get grit under your nails.
then, come with me & sort the bottles
from the cans from the paper. 
save the pickle jar. i'm going to clean it
& store stray tongues inside.